Fairy Dust and Winter Winds
by ModernDayBard
Summary: When Jack Frost meets the one and only Peter Pan, mysteries and adventures abound. Just who-or what-is Peter, and why does Jack seem familiar to the Lost Boy's chief? (Peter Pan/Rise of the Guardians Cross-over; based on the musical Peter Pan [not book].) Complete.
1. Where Dreams Are Born

**Hello, ModernDayBard here! After watching NBC's '**_**Peter Pan Live!**_**' and thinking about the movie **_**Rise of the Guardians**_**, the idea for this fic just sort of popped into my head.  
There will be three chapters posted in four-day increments, so this, my little Christmas gift to my readers, will finish up on Christmas Eve! (All other stories will still be updated on their regular schedule.)  
As a side note, this will be based on the play/musical Peter more than the book one, as I've seen the stage play more than I've read the book. Anyway, the play was actually written first. Of course, I own neither Peter Pan nor the Guardians.**

Jack Frost perched outside the theater, watching with a mild sense of pride as his young friend, Jaimie, made his theatrical debut. The local high school was performing the musical _Peter Pan,_ and had needed two young boys to fill the roles of Wendy's little brothers. Jaimie was playing John, and doing a good job of it, as far as Jack could tell.

The Guardian of Fun was grateful that this performance was the school's 'winter show' so that he didn't feel guilty about dropping by to watch—it wasn't like he was here in the spring or summer when he should be making a blizzard somewhere else!

As the narrative unfolded, Jack amused himself by trying to picture what Peter would be like, if his story was true…

"…_but again—"_

"—_you might not remember."_

"_Where's the good in remembering?..."_

"…_Peter, how old are you?"_

"_I'm not exactly sure—see, I ran away the day I was born…"_

"…_and all the seasons are on different parts of the island, all at the same time! Except for winter, there's no winter there..."_

"…'_Cause growing up is awful-er than all the awful things that ever were—I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up: no sir!..."_

"…_When I went home, I thought that certainly someone would leave the door or window open wide for me…But the door was barred, and the window barred, and I knew with an awful dread that somebody else—some other boy—was sleeping in __my __bed…."_

"…_Pan, what are you?"_

"_I am youth. I am joy. I am freedom! …"_

It was certainly an interesting exercise, a fun little game for a moment's diversion, but all too soon the show was over, and Jack knew it was time to go. Floating over to a window that he knew Jaimie would see, Jack touched it, covering it in frost, then outlining an Easter egg, like he had the first time Jaimie had seen him, leaving the design as a calling card to let the young boy know that his friend had come, just as he had promised. That done, Jack was about to take off and get back to work when he noticed something…odd.

From another of the theater's window, a slight form the Wintersmith hadn't noticed before suddenly took flight, a small flickering light following it with the sound of—were those bells?

Curiosity duly aroused, Jack silently followed, in time to hear a young boy's voice say with a touch of arrogance, "…pretty decent version, I'd say. Of course, no one they get to play me is ever as good as the real thing, eh, Silver Bloom?"

"I thought her name was Tinker Bell?" Jack said before he caught himself, pulling alongside the figure. It turned out to be a boy around Jaimie's age, with a shock of dirty-blond hair and startling green eyes. The clothes he was wearing were well-worn but still reminiscent of—if not exactly like—the ones the actor playing Pan had been wearing in the play.

The boy glanced over casually, answering almost before he looked. "Tink's long gone, I'm afraid. I don't exactly remember when she left. Silver Bloom's my fairy now."

The boy suddenly seemed to realize that he was speaking to someone—an actual person—who was flying alongside him. With a half-startled, half-defiant expression, the stranger picked up speed, angling away from Jack.

His questions now gnawing too much to be ignored, Jack followed in hot—er, cold—pursuit.

Jack had to admit—the strange boy was fast, even without the winter wind on his side. He was agile, to, quickly changing directions and dodging around tree branches, lampposts, and electrical wires like he'd been flying for years—centuries even.

_Could he really be—_Jack didn't let himself finish the thought, it was just _too_ outlandish. The boy wasn't normal, but that didn't automatically mean he was the subject of the musical. _Even if he claimed he __was__. _

The Guardian of Fun was never more than a few feet behind the swiftly soaring form and the little light which seemed to have grabbed hold of the muddy green tunic. But for all his effort, he couldn't quite catch the darting figure. Part of the Wintersmith wondered if he was only allowed this close as a form of taunting.

He didn't much like that thought.

Desperate now _not_ to lose, Jack resulted to a petty trick: flying low an scooping up enough snow from the ground for a (normal) snowball, which he threw with his usual accuracy at the figure far in front.

With a startled yelp, the strange boy tumbled from the air into a snow drift. Slightly embarrassed, but unable to suppress as slight thrill of triumph, Jack landed at the top of the drift, watching as the green- and brown-clad stranger scrambled out of the cold bank, spitting out snow and glaring at Jack with indignant green eyes.

"That's not fair!" the voice of a young boy exclaimed at last, and the Guardian of Fun remembered those same words—in nearly the same inflection—from the musical.

"Lighten up," he managed at last. "I just wanted to talk. Who _are_ you?"

The petulant expression didn't fade. "Can't you _tell_? You _did_ watch that play—right?"

"_You're_ Peter Pan?" Jack shook his head. Despite all the talk of 'never growing up', he'd still pictured that Pan would be a little bit older.

Green eyes still glared as Peter crossed his arms. "Of course I am. Who are _you_ supposed to be?"

"I'm Jack Frost—wait, if you've never heard of me, you can't believe in me. How can you see me, then?" The realization reinforced his earlier suspicions, back when they were hypothetical musings: Peter wasn't entirely human. After all, one didn't simply stop aging by sheer will power alone.

"I don't have to have met someone to believe in them. I never grew up, or did you miss that part?" Peter's expression finally changed, to one of grudging respect. "You fly pretty well, for a grown-up."

"I'm not a grown up! …I'm the Guardian of Fun." Jack had been about to say _"I never got the chance to grow up,"_ but something stopped him, some sense that he shouldn't go into his story—not yet. "I-I bring winter, games, laughter—that sort of thing."

Silver Bloom finally pulled herself free of the drift she'd been stuck in since Pan's crash-landing and flew up to the tow-headed boy's shoulder. Jack couldn't see more than the light around the fairy's figure, but thanks to Baby Tooth, he'd learned to understand at lest the tone, if not words, of fairy speak. He guessed the little pixie was chiding her boy having forgotten her in the cold—verily angrily chiding, at that.

Peter didn't seem to listen, which Jack figured wasn't doing anything for the fairy's ill-temper. "Oh, you're one of the guardians that protect kids like me? Wish you could do something about the other becoming grown-ups, but I suppose you're all a bit too grown-up yourselves for that."

Jack knew that was an insult from this strange boy, and he bristled slightly. "Yes, we're actually mature enough to put their good above what _we_ want—"

"Whatever," Peter mumbled, beginning to rise out of the snow, now looking quite bored. "The Lost Boys will be wondering where I've been, and I can't very well tell them I've been talking to an _adult_."

With that, he took off. The Wintersmith was half-tempted to follow again, but some instinct told him that it wouldn't be the best move. He was still curious about the 'eternal child', and had some questions, but something about the timing wasn't right. Besides, with his current attitude, Pan wouldn't be likely to listen to him, anyway.

With a disappointed sigh, Jack took to the sky, heading in the opposite direction, hoping a long flight through the brisk air would improve his mood.

* * *

Only a few days later, Peter returned to the same park the chance had ended in, watching intently as Jack led some kids in a snowball fight. Most of the kids seemed able to see him, and all were laughing and enjoying themselves, but one brown-haired boy in particular seemed to be sticking pretty close to Jack.

For once, however, the eternal child wasn't really watching the other children, nor was he tempted to join in the fun. All his attention was focused on the Guardian of Fun, the reason Pan had come back.

As much as the taller, older boy had annoyed Peter, the Lost Boys' chief couldn't deny that he was curious about the stranger. For all his grown-up tendencies, this Jack Frost was the best flier Pan had ever met—next to himself, of course. There was also something…familiar about the boy with white hair. Peter suspected that he'd met him once, and then forgotten him, as he tended to do. Why then, had Jack been surprised to see him and find out who he was?

Whatever the answers, finding them was sure to be an adventure, and Peter Pan never backed down form an adventure! Besides, contrary to what he'd let on when he'd flown off in a huff, there weren't any Lost Boys in Neverland at the moment. That would surely change soon, but for now, Peter wanted a distraction, and what better distraction than an adventure?

That was why he now crouched in a tree at the edge of the park, out of sight of the children, without Silver Bloom, who was still angry about the snow drift incident. As the sun began to go down, the game ended, and the participants all drifted reluctantly to their respective homes, except for the brown-haired boy standing next to Jack.

"Thanks for the snow day, Jack! And thanks for coming to the play. Will you be sticking around?"

"I'm sorry Jaimie," Jack said, looking honestly apologetic. "I've had a lot of fun this week, and I'll be back after Christmas, but I need to check in on winter around the world, bring some other kids snow days, too. But keep an eye out—I'll be around. Now you better get home before your mom starts to worry. And say 'hi' to Sophie for me."

With a wave and a disappointed expression, Jaimie ran off, leaving Jack the only person in the park—except for Peter, of course. This was what the eternal child had been waiting for. Deciding to return Jack's 'favor' from the other night, Pan jumped down, formed a snowball, and threw it –hard—at the white-haired Wintersmith.

Jack turned, startled and a little angry, then confused when he saw Peter waving and grinning impishly. Without leaving his rival time to recover, Pan took to the sky, making sure to go slow enough for Jack to follow.

Before long, Peter was flying full speed and having to execute a lot of sharp turns and sudden unexpected maneuvers just to maintain his lead. It was just like the last time: he was racing against an expert flier, not someone he was trying to teach. The sheer novelty of it, made a laugh bubble up in his chest, and he let it out, rolling onto his back as he dove towards the ground, pulling up sharply and flying in a loop jut for the fun of it.

Looking down, he was startled to see Jack flying just below him, keeping up easily now, a daredevil grin on the older boy's face that Peter knew matched his own. Without any words necessary, the two switched from chasing each other to showing off, laughing and playing as the winter sky darkened and the Sandman went about his nightly duties.

* * *

"I guess you're not like the other fussy old Guardians after all," Peter declared at last as the two boys had stopped their game and come to rest in the branches of the tree Peter had started that afternoon.

"Uh, thanks," Jack managed at last, giving his strange companion a sideways glance. "But they aren't as bad as you think. In a fight, there's no one I'd rather have on my side."

Peter snorted. "That's nothing—you should see me fight pirates or Indians!"

"I'll take pirates over Nightmares any time."

"Nightmares?" Peter sensed a story. He figured it wasn't a story about _him_, but maybe he would make an exception this one time. After all, it might answer some of his questions about why the Guardian of Fun still seemed…familiar.

The Wintersmith didn't disappoint, telling the younger boy the story of how he discovered his destiny as a Guardian and helped North, Tooth, Sandy, and Bunny defeat Pitch Black—the Boogey Man himself. He felt the tow-headed figure beside him regarding him with more respect, but he didn't meet those vibrant green eyes—he realized he'd unintentionally left_ in_ the part about learning the truth of his own life before.

"You died? And that's when you became Jack Frost…" Peter trailed off, caught up in his own thoughts. Jack wasn't sure what the Lost Boys' chief would say next, but he was still caught off-guard when Pan did speak. "I always thought that dying would be a very big adventure. Guess you found out before I did. Do you think I'd become a Guardian of something if I died?"

Jack's suspicions that had been growing since the night of the musical caught in his throat, and looking into those excited, trusting, _young_ eyes, he just couldn't bring himself to raise the possibility, however likely it seemed. Peter shrugged; obviously having missed Jack's trapped expression and perhaps already forgotten the conversation.

"I've got to get back before Silver Bloom decides to sulk _forever_. So, if I wanted to race you again, I just need to look for winter?"

Jack had to laugh at that, doing his best to also forget his melancholy theories. "You could, but it's a pretty big area to search right about now. But if you apologize to Silver Bloom, she might be able to help you. Fairies always seem to be able to find me." It was true, as he had discovered whenever Baby Tooth turned up in the oddest of places. At least he got some privacy when she went back to help Tooth. Who knew having a fairy as a fan could get so tiresome at times?

As Peter flew off, Jack suddenly realized that, sometime that afternoon, a change had occurred that he'd been expecting even less than the answers to his questions—he'd become friends with Peter Pan.

* * *

"…so all the Guardians lived lives that embodied the very things that they now protect in children, so after they died, the Man in the Moon made them what they are now?"

About two weeks and five encounters after their first conversation in the tree, Peter finally had started asking the questions that Jack had feared most. The eternal child seemed determined to understand the Guardians, and the Wintersmith knew that soon, there'd be no hiding what he feared was the truth from his young friend.

"That's right."

"And there are others who aren't official Guardians?"

"Well," Frost began, choosing his words carefully, "yes. Like how I was around for 300 years before the fight with Pitch; or, you know, people like the Groundhog, Cupid, or whoever is the spirit of Halloween. North thinks there might even be other seasonal spirits, like me, though we haven't encountered any."

"And they all were someone else too? And died?" Pan had been flying, but now he settled on the lamppost next to Jack. Perhaps his thoughts weren't pleasant enough to keep him airborne? "And you can be the Guardian of pretty much anything?"

"Pretty much: Fun, Memories, Hope, Wonder, Dreams, Love…Childhood itself."

That stopped Peter, who'd begun to take flight again, and he turned to his older friend, bright green eyes boring into clear blue ones. "Wait, what?"

Jack had made his decision not to hold back anymore, and there was no turning back now. "Peter, I think…I think you're a potential Guardian, too: the Guardian of Youth."

"You think I'm _dead_? I think even I'd remember if I'd died!"

"Peter, calm down! Look, if you just think about it, it explains so much. You told me most of that musical was true, that Wendy had written the story and passed it down." Now that he'd started talking, Jack didn't know how to stop, and he found himself rambling, talking faster and faster with more and more intensity. "If you were a Guardian spirit, it would explain so much: why you don't age, even when the other Lost Boys do; why your memory isn't that great (believe, mine wasn't either); why Hook keeps coming back, no matter how many times you defeat him; your answer to the question he asks, and why he keeps asking the same question—he's an echo, I think, caught replaying his story—and why the window was closed when you went—"

"_STOP IT!_" Peter screamed, launching into the air and fly several yards from Jack. "It's not true—it can't be! I don't believe it. I don't grow up because _I don't want to_! I don't remember because what's the good in remembering? And Hook—" Pan faltered, then shook his head vehemently. "Who cares about Hook? He's a codfish! And the window—the window was closed because—because my mother—because my mother forgot me!"

Jack tried to fly over to him. "She didn't Peter. No mother ever would—"

"_SHUT UP_!" The distraught boy screamed again. "_LEAVE ME ALONE!_" With that, he took off for Neverland at top speed.

Jack sadly watched him go. He wouldn't follow, he felt to guilty about the anguish he'd caused the eternal child to feel (besides, Pan had never showed him where Neverland actually was). Still, Jack firmly believed that, accept it or not, Peter Pan was the Guardian Spirit of Youth.

* * *

Jack was sure now that he'd made a big mistake in telling Peter his theories. The Guardian of Fun hadn't seen his young friend since he'd flow off, despite searching everywhere in his wintery domain. Jack supposed he could have tried searching elsewhere, but he didn't want the other Guardians to wonder why he was shirking his duty. Besides, he had a promise to keep.

So, reluctantly, the Wintersmith returned to Jaimie's hometown. Whenever the kids were around, especially Jaimie, Jack tried to pretend that everything was fine, joining in the games with his usual gusto. But now even Jaimie seemed to serve as a reminder of a certain tow-haired boy somewhere out there, desperate to believe that he was still alive.

* * *

Jack had almost given up—almost accepted Peter's avoidance of him as some kind of punishment for hurting the younger boy—when he felt someone watching him from a tree on the edge of the park. Glancing up from the snowball fight Jaimie had organized (likely the last one of the year, it was time for winter to move on), Jack thought he saw a flicker of movement in the impossibly high branches, perhaps even a flash of blond hair.

He hardly dared to hope, but since the kids were all filing back to their houses for dinner, the Wintersmith decided to investigate. He flew up to the tree—the same one from their first real conversation, all those weeks before, he realized—to see Peter waiting for him. There was no sign of Silver Bloom, and the younger boy's green eyes had a determine glint in them that Jack realized was Peter bracing himself to face something he was afraid of.

"I want to know," he said at last, "if you're right. I don't know—maybe you are, and I've forgotten my big adventure. I'd like to remember it, if there was a way. Can I remember the way you did?"

Jack felt a weight slipping off his shoulders. "If anyone can help you, it's Tooth. Follow me!"

With that, the two boys took to the air, Jack Frost leading the way to the Tooth Fairy's palace, determined to help his friend uncover the truth.

**So, there you have it: chapter one of my first cross-over fic! I hope you all enjoy this little Christmas treat. If you like it, or if you see something I can improve on, don't hesitate to leave a review!**


	2. Your Memories

**Hello, ModernDayBard here, with the next installment of Fairy Dust and Winter Winds. As I said before, there will be three chapters posted in four-day increments, so this, my little Christmas gift to my readers, will finish up on Christmas Eve! (All other stories will still be updated on their regular schedule.)**

**Just as a reminder, this will be based on the play/musical Peter more than the book one, as I've seen the stage play more than I've read the book. Anyway, the play was actually written first. Of course, I own neither Peter Pan nor the Guardians.**

Peter was quiet, at first, as the two boys flew to the Tooth palace, but Jack figured that was only to be expected. Pan _was_ pretty young (physically, emotionally, and mentally, if not chronologically) to be worried about being dead.

Despite the solemn nature of and motivation for their quest, the bright colors and cheerful atmosphere of the Tooth Fairy's kingdom soon brought a smile to the younger boy's face as it came into view. With an excited whoop that caught his guide off-guard, the tow-haired boy banked steeply, then grabbed a hold of one of the spires jutting up from a nearby tower, using his momentum to catapult himself into a sharp turn.

"Come on!" Peter called over his shoulder. "There's an adventure here!"

Jack followed silently, praying that his young friend's good cheer would last when they found the answers they'd come there to seek.

* * *

"…and, well, we think he might be like me—or like I was…before," Jack finished haltingly, the right words hard to find now that they two boys were actually explaining their plan to Tooth. Still, the Guardian of Fun privately thought that the story had intrigued the prismatic fairy, as she'd actually stopped buzzing around and giving orders to her little fairies long enough to listen.

For his part, Peter had been _very_ distracted. Normally, stories about him were the _only_ ones he listened carefully to, but he'd been captivated by the little blue-and-green creatures that had buzzed about the two boys since their arrival. Jack had called them fairies, and while they did remind him somewhat of Tinker Bell's kin, they were like no fairies he'd ever seen.

One in particular lingered especially close when they first arrived in the main hall, peering into his green eyes with undiminished curiosity, then perching atop his head. "Uh, Baby Tooth?" Jack had ventured, apparently having recognized the little creature. "Peter's already got a fairy friend."

With a sound that might've been one of disappointment, the so-called Baby Tooth flew over to Jack and nestled on his shoulder. So, his friend was popular here, apparently. While the older boy explained their unexpected visit, Peter occupied himself by flying around and looking at everything—but especially the fairies.

"Well, it's quite possible," the large fairy said at last, and Peter flew down and joined the other two again. "There's only one way to find out. Let's see if we have your teeth in storage, Peter—wasn't it?"

The young boy treated her to a smug smile. "That's right—Peter Pan the Avenger!"

Peter didn't scare easily, but something in the fairy's keen gaze as she searched his face made him feel…well, vaguely uncomfortable—somewhat like how Wendy or one of her descendants would look at him and ask him how he felt about them: searching for a clue he wasn't sure they'd find. What was it supposed to be a clue to, anyway?

Then the look was gone, replaced with a smile so genuine Peter almost wondered if he'd imagined her searching expression. "On the way to the archives, how about a tour?" Tooth offered brightly.

* * *

While Baby Tooth led an excited Peter (who could apparently understand her chirps as easily as his own fairy's bells) on a somewhat scattered tour of the Tooth Palace, Tooth herself pulled Jack aside, out of earshot.

"What's wrong?" he asked, able to tell from her expression that she was either upset or nervous—or both.

Tooth didn't quite meet his gaze, her multicolored eyes flicking all over as she whispered in the fast-paced way she did when she got worked up. "That boy—I _do_ recognize him. Oh, that smile: I never forget a smile. We _do_ have his teeth in storage, but they're pretty old. Not as old as yours, mind you, but still…he's older than he looks."

"Why are you upset? That's good news—the answers are here!"

The Guardian of memories shook her head fervently. "Jack, the reason I remember his face, his teeth—it isn't a good one. It's not a full set."

'What?" Jack frowned. "What does that mean?"

Tooth kept wringing her hands and refusing to meet his gaze. "What happened to you—that was a tragedy, yes. But you had a full set—you'd lived long enough and gotten into enough scrapes to have lost all your teeth. Peter was right about one thing: you pretty much _are_ a grown-up. But he—" The softhearted fairy's voice broke, but she valiantly finished her thought, "—he never got the chance. He doesn't have—will _never_ have—a full set."

Jack turned, watching the tow-haired boy with a new sadness as his young friend flew after the various fairies, laughing in his usual, care-free way. The Wintersmith had a bitter taste in the back of his mouth, but he had to ask: "How many?"

"One—maybe two at most; I think he knocked them out when rough-housing. The replacements never even had a chance to grow in."

* * *

Peter looked up with a wide grin as his friend and the Tooth Fairy rejoined them. "This place is amazing!" he exclaimed with a child's enthusiasm. "Jack, can you imagine the races and chases we could have here?"

Pan had expected the Wintersmith to look around, take in the haphazard architecture and open sky between the towers and other structures, then grin, and maybe even challenge him on the spot. Instead, the older boy's expression didn't change—he still looked almost…sick.

"Y-Yeah, sure," he said at last. "Look, Peter: we don't have to do this if you don't want to. Or at least, not right now. Maybe some other time."

Peter floated down and stood toe-to-toe with the older boy, scowling defiantly. "I'm not afraid. And I want to know! If you could handle it, so can I!"

Tooth and Jack exchanged a look, then the fairy queen sighed. She held out her hand, and another one of her fairies flew up with a golden canister. The Guardian of Memories held it for a moment, gazing sadly at the face on the end, before reluctantly holding it out to the Lost Boys' chief.

Peter snatched it away, and laid a finger on the top. He was about to ask what else he needed to do, when the images began.

* * *

They came rushing all at once: a group of around five young children playing, Peter himself in the lead; Peter telling the same children about a fairy he saw the night before ("there's no such things as fairies, my dad says," one little girl put in, "shows how much he knows," Peter replied defiantly, "grown-ups miss so much!"); soon a younger boy joined the group, looking very much like a miniature Peter and always hovering close to the leader.

One day, a group of older children stopped the group, teasingly warning them about what school was like, telling them to enjoy their freedom while they had it. The same girl from the fairy story began to cry, wailing that she didn't want to grow up. "Then don't," Peter heard himself say. "Not today, not now, at least." And for that moment, they didn't.

The scenes came rushing one after the other—Peter's life until the age of six, including the day he fell out of a tree and knocked his first two teeth out. Most of the memories focused on the same half-dozen kids, and Peter as their leader, not letting them worry about growing up in those years that belonged just to them. Some however, just showed him and his young doppelganger—his little brother—playing in the nursery together. Warm, happy, innocent memories…

…Peter wasn't old enough to know that he shouldn't have expected them to last.

* * *

Suddenly, the scenes changed. Now Peter and the young boy were in their beds, sick, and their friends weren't allowed to come in. His younger brother, no older than three or four, seemed frightened, so Peter told him silly stories about fairies or planned adventures the two would have together, in order to keep their minds off of how sick they were. Eventually, Peter's brother got better and was allowed to go outside.

Peter didn't.

He had to lie in bed and listen to his brother and friends playing outside while he lay, hoping to get better. He didn't want to worry—it seemed like such a grown-up thing to do—so he kept telling himself the adventure stories. No longer would he be plain-old Peter Passwelle; Peter Pan the Avenger, he would call himself.

One day, late in the afternoon, the window swung open, and the little girl who'd cried about growing up climbed over the sill, holding a finger to her lips. Peter felt pretty weak, but he didn't want to show it. He sat up in bed as best he could. "Clara?" he asked hoarsely. "What are you doing here?"

"James showed me how you would climb in. I wanted to see you."

She started to swing her feet over the sill, and Peter yelled, "Don't!" Clara halted, looking at him with her brown eyes wide-open.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because that isn't a floor, it's mermaids' lagoon! If you step in the water…" Peter paused, trying to think about what the mermaids might do. "They'll bite your toes off!"

Clara laughed, but she stayed seated on the window sill. "Turned the nursery into your island again, haven't you?"

"Yep! Welcome to Neverland, Clara. But watch your step—you never know where you'll find an enemy!" Peter broke off, unable to stop a coughing fit. When he could talk again, he mustered a smile for his friend. "I'm going to find a real Neverland someday. Then we can all go and have one big adventure after another!"

Clara couldn't return his smile. "I-I'd love that, Peter, but…"

"But what?"

"Papa says you might die," the little brown-haired girl said at last, bottom lip quivering. "That you might go away for a very long time, and not come back, and we wouldn't be able to go with you!"

Peter shrugged, settling back down. He was growing tired again. "Sounds like dying is an awfully big adventure then. And I get to find out first!"

Before Clara could say anything, she heard someone approaching the closed nursery door. "I've got to go Peter! I'll come back and see you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow, Clara Moira Angela Trenton," Peter mumbled drowsily as she climbed back out the window.

But he never did. That night, Peter Johnathon Abraham Passwelle embarked on his 'awfully big adventure,' on which he did, indeed, find a real Neverland.

* * *

Jack and Tooth were not privy to Peter's memories. The best that they could do was watching his face, searching for a change of expression that might give them a clue as to what the tow-haired boy was seeing. Neither said a word as the minutes stretched onward, and the tense mood even affected Baby Tooth, who stopped flitting around and settled on Jack's shoulder.

At last, the eternal child looked up, tears beading in the corners of his vivid green eyes. Jack tried to reach out to his young friend. "Peter—"

The younger boy jerked away from the Wintersmith, who realized the tears were as much from anger as they were from grief. "Leave me _alone_!" Peter screamed, backing away from the concerned duo. "I didn't want to remember that! Maybe I had a family and—and a mother—once," he choked out between the sobs that were beginning, "—but they—they're _gone_!" He glared at Jack, a child seeking someone to blame for his pain. "I _told_ you: what—what's the good in remembering? It only—only _hurts_!"

Jack's mouth dropped open. This wasn't what he had expected, based on his own experience. Yes, he'd remembered some painful things, but he'd been so relieved to know who he _was_ that the pain hadn't mattered. As Peter flew off in a huff, the Guardian of Fun felt guilty for putting his young friend through whatever it was that had upset him so much.

The white-haired boy glanced over at Tooth, who read his expression. "It wasn't your fault, Jack. You were just trying to help him."

"What do I do?"

Tooth hesitated, then shrugged. "Give him some time to cool off. Then…well, see if you can talk to him. He'll need a friend."

Jack nodded, flying slowly after Peter, Tooth's unspoken words ringing loudly in his head.

"_He'll need __you__, Jack."_

* * *

After waiting a few minutes, Jack slowly drifted up to the roof of one of the towers, were the younger boy had been sitting for a while. Silently, Jack sat next to his friend, their feet dangling over the side. The Wintersmith glanced over to see that Peter was now dry-eyed, though he obviously had been crying earlier.

The Guardian of Fun held his tongue, waiting to take his cue from Peter. Eventual Pan took a deep shuddering breath and said, without glancing at the older boy, 'Well, now we know. I _am_ a Guardian Spirit, even if I'm not a full-fledged Guardian."

"Yep," Jack said at last, unsure if there was anything else he needed to say.

The Lost Boy's chief finally turned to his friend, bright green eyes wide with an almost-frightened question. "So what do I do now?"

Jack Frost didn't answer right away.

**So, there you have it: chapter two of my first cross-over fic! I hope you all enjoy this little Christmas treat. If you like it, or if you see something I can improve on, don't hesitate to leave a review!**


	3. True Blood Brothers

**Hello, ModernDayBard here, with the final installment of Fair Dust and Winter Winds. A huge 'Thank you' for all who have followed this story from the start, and a 'Merry Christmas' to one and all! **

**Just because it must be said: I own neither Peter Pan nor the Guardians.**

When Jack and Tooth told the other guardians about Peter, Frost was pleasantly surprised by their reaction. They seemed to understand that Peter needed some space and time to sort out just what being a Guardian Spirit meant for him, though North offered to help Jack if Pan started asking questions he didn't know how to answer.

"He is not exactly a Guardian like us," The Guardian of Wonder confirmed in his thick Russian accent, "but maybe, one day, he will be. If Pitch or someone else tries to make trouble, I think he will make a great ally. Who knows? Perhaps man in the Moon _will_ pick him sooner than we think. In the meantime…"

"Yes?" Jack asked, looking up at the burly figure he'd come to respect.

North smile at the boy, clapping him on the shoulder (Jack nearly doubled over from the impact). "In the meant time, be a good friend. But I do not think you need to be told that."

He didn't.

* * *

Peter never did tell Jack what he had seen in his memories, and the older boy knew better than to press. Except for his continued silence on the topic of his past, Pan bounced back quickly, returning more or less to his old self.

Still, the eternal child decided there _was_ one change that he should allow.

* * *

Jack glanced around the small island with an air of awe. So _this_ was his young friend's home. True to the words of the musical, Neverland was a small island divided up into three sections, one each for spring, autumn, and summer respectively.

"Welcome to Neverland, Wintersmith!" Peter called, striking a dramatic pose as he floated in mid-air. "Isn't it the best place ever?"

Jack floated up next to his young friend, tapping idly on his staff as he matched the mischievous grin in the bright green eyes. "I don't know," he said, grinning so that Peter knew he was teasing, "I think there's _some_thing missing."

The two boys laughed in unison and, at a nod from Peter, the Guardian of Fun thrust his staff skyward, concentrating. At first, nothing changed; then all at once a cold north wind that had never been felt in Neverland before swooped in, blowing fog, clouds, and snow.

When the almighty blast cleared at last, Neverland now had _four_ sections—and Winter now had a permanent place on Pan's island.

Peter nodded approvingly. "So, now, whenever you want to visit, you won't have so hard a time finding it."

Jack flushed slightly. He'd hoped that Peter would forget the little disaster that had occurred the _first_ time Pan had tried to show him Neverland. Apparently, the eternal child's memory was actually very good when it came to stories that embarrassed his friends.

* * *

Winter may have come to Neverland to stay, but Jack couldn't do the same. Peter had tried grumbling whenever Jack had to go off and see to the rest of winter, or check in on Jamie or some other child, but the Lost Boy's chief was at least grateful that Frost could do what none of the other children that came to Neverland could: he could come back.

And come back he did, quite often.

* * *

One such time, Jack, Peter, and the current group of Lost Boys were resting on the beach after a long snowball fight in the winter section of the island, when Hook and his pirates tried to ambush them. It was the first time a pirate attack had coincided with one of Jack's visits.

You could almost feel sorry for the would-be ambushers.

The Lost Boys fought with their usual enthusiasm, which was often enough to best their older opponents, but this time they had the support of the Wintersmith himself. By the end of the fight, half the beach was frozen forever, and the bruised and humiliated pirates had to make their way back to their ship as best they could, given that they were frozen inside of gigantic snowmen.

The children collapsed laughing at the fate of their foes, while Peter and Jack exchanged matching trickster's grins. Once again, Pan thought that something about the white-haired Guardian was familiar for a different reason than that Jack was simply his friend. But the tow-haired boy had long ago resigned himself to never fully understanding that mystery.

* * *

Not many people knew of the Tooth Fairy's other hobby (most of her close friends simply assumed she didn't have time for hobbies), but that was all right by her. Honestly, the prismatic fairy preferred peace and quiet when she decided to trace the genealogies of some of the children. Actually, she preferred to think of it as 'memory hopping'—she'd start with one child's memories, which would contain a clue as to where they ended up as an adult, she would then find _their_ children's teeth, and continue the trail until she got to their youngest living descendant.

Tooth had been so busy lately, she hadn't gotten to 'memory hop' in a while. Finally, however, she got enough free time she felt she could indulge in her little game guilt-free. Remembering Jack's visit many months before, she picked up the teeth of a little tow-haired green eyes boy: James Isaac Caleb Passwelle, Peter's younger brother.

A couple generations down the line, the trail started to look familiar and Tooth paused. This happened form time to time, and it always excited her—James' path had intersected with another child's she'd once traced. But who? She couldn't remember for the life of her, so she continued on. Three generations later, it hit her—she'd once done this exact same thing for Jack's sister, and now the lines had crossed! One of Jack's great-grand-nieces or –nephews had married one of Peter's grand-nephew or –nieces. The two boys were (sort of) related!

Tooth smiled, remembering which children this line led to: a little brown-haired, brown-eyed boy, and his blonde-haired, green-eyed sister.

_*Jaimie and Sophie. How perfect.*_

**So, there you have it: the final chapter of my first cross-over fic! Thank you all for coming on this wintery little side-trip, and I hope you all enjoyed this little Christmas treat. If you liked it, or if you saw something I can improve on for next time, don't hesitate to leave a review!**


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